


Self Control

by fayetality



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood and Injury, Heroes and Villains, M/M, Read Author's Note for Details, alternative universe, liminal space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayetality/pseuds/fayetality
Summary: "I know you gotta leave,Take down some summertime;Give up just tonight."
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Self Control

**Author's Note:**

> Details about tagging:
> 
> There are brief descriptions of blood, bruising, injured bones, and other minor injuries. These descriptions aren't detailed, but they are mentioned, so please read at your own risk.

The rooftop was breezy and cool, a sharp contrast to the heat flooding Hajime’s veins. He felt adrenaline surge through his system, lungs pumping from the exertion of previously exchanged blows and parries. 

Blood leaked from the gash on his cheek, blossomed purple and pink beneath unbroken skin. Certain hits had struck deep, too deep to show proof of it’s sting aside from a smattering of color from shattered capillaries. Hajime let himself fall on his back and examined the stars.

“Whew! That was fun, huh Iwa-chan?”

Hajime winced as he turned his head to face the man at his side. He was sprawled out in a similar fashion, eyes unfocused and hazy on the inky black sky. Limp muscles reflected the same exhaustion Hajime felt weighing heavy in his bones. He sported similar cuts and bruises, a reflection of a fight well fought, yet one that remained victorless. 

This, of course, was how things usually ended between them. 

“It’s not fair you know,” Hajime rasped, coughing to clear the globules of bloody mucus from his throat. His nose was most definitely broken. “You know my name well enough to give me a shitty nickname, but I still don’t know yours.”

The man at his side grinned and shifted to support his head with the back of his hand. His elbow brushed Hajime’s shoulder.

“Well of course you do! I’m ‘Roswell’; supervillain extraordinaire and Iwa-chan’s personal worst nightmare!”

Hajime chuckled, a low and harsh baritone. “I still can’t believe you named yourself after a UFO landing sight.”

A smile curled against the villain’s cheeks, a bare hint of teeth glimmering in the moonlight. “I can’t believe no one’s caught on yet.”

“Fuckin’ nerd.”

Roswell pouted. “Mean, Iwa-chan!”

Silence settled in the space between, the pair losing themselves to the glittery expanse above. Hajime remembered another time where they’d ended up in a similar position, bloodied and beaten by each other’s hand, and Roswell had gently pointed out his favorite constellations. He had reached a shaky finger up and sketched a map out before Hajime’s eyes. 

That was after their fights had progressed past tumultuous endings and venomous threats. Now, they’d fallen into a rhythm of collapsing after a spar well fought and examining clusters of stars together.

Hajime wasn’t sure when things had changed. His hand twitched, suppressing the urge to trace Ursa Minor with his finger. 

It was just out of his grasp. If only he could lift his arm and reach, reach, reach—

“Iwa-chan is thinking too hard. He’s going to hurt himself.” 

Turning his head, Hajime’s eyes met a set of stars on earth. Roswell was staring back at him, amusedly. If only he could reach…

“Let’s just enjoy the moment, huh?” Roswell’s smile was haggard and weak. ”We both lead pretty restless lives. Peace is hard to come by in a business like ours.”

“And who’s fault is that, Mr. Most Wanted Supervillain,” Hajime chided. 

Roswell exhaled slowly. “You’d be surprised what you’d see if you didn’t wear those horse blinds of yours, _hero_.” He looked back to the sky, brushing back hair from his forehead with a grimy palm. “The world isn’t as simple as you like to think it is.”

Hajime’s gaze stayed on Roswell. The light spilled against the front of his sleek black suit, making it look as though he was melting into the concrete, becoming one with the shadows cast by his own form. 

Roswell had always been very expressive. Hajime could read him like a book during their fights, knew exactly when darkened eyes transitioned from annoyance to frustration, or when a sneer toed the line between haughtiness and rage. He’d seen the thousands of masks Roswell molded his face into over the years they’d been enemies. 

And yet.

Hajime had never seen him look so calm. Right now, in this moment, his eyes were soft and forgiving. His cheeks glowed pink with innocence, only akin to one who has yet to experience the true horrors of the world around them. He seemed so out of place in his dark outfit, like a boy wearing his father’s work shirt for the first time. Too many sizes too big, too many responsibilities to fill, too little of a body to handle the world’s unfailing cruelness. 

But underneath all that, he looked pained. 

As if he’d learned too much too soon, grew too big too fast, and now he was left with corded muscle and lanky limbs, and a resolve too weak to rise to the challenges required of someone of his figure. Anguish dug deep lines into his skin, showcasing a fatigue that time could emulate, but never truly copy.

“Why are we here?” 

Hajime watched Roswell’s shoulders go taut. He didn’t know why he spoke, or why he asked _that_ out of all the questions he had garnered about him over the years.

The youthfulness slipped from Roswell’s skin, bled from his wounds and mingled with his blood until it pooled at his side. In its wake, stress and tension settled back in. Hajime wished he’d kept his mouth shut. 

But the damage had already been done. So he pressed on. 

“Why haven’t you killed me yet? You’ve had plenty of opportunities to.”

Roswell huffed indignantly, as though he’d already answered this question thousands of times and Hajime was simply too stupid to understand. “Iwa-chan always ruins the moment with his incessant thinking—“

“Why, Roswell?”

“I could ask you the same question, _Hajime_.” If the use of his given name wasn’t enough to knock the wind out of him, the intensity of Roswell’s stare was. Starry eyes met his. Hajime couldn’t find it within himself to look away. “Why haven’t _you_ killed _me_ yet?”

If he had an answer, it had followed his final exhale on its way out of Hajime’s lungs before he was rendered breathless. Roswell smiled a genuine smile, free of pretense and spite and whatever else he tended to mixed in to dilute the beauty of his shamelessly bared teeth. “Ah, but this is so much fun, is it not? Iwa-chan is very fun to fight.”

Hajime didn’t realize how much he agreed with that sentiment until it was spoken aloud. Yes. Roswell was also very fun to fight. He was nothing like the other criminals he’d captured over the years. 

He looked like he still had something to say, so Hajime sucked in a breath and waited. 

“I got my powers young. Really young.” Roswell’s gaze became unfocused, as though recalling memories buried in the past. “I never lived a normal life. Never went to high school. Never had friends.” His eyes flickered to Hajime. “Never fell in love.”

Roswell let his eyes flutter shut, smiling softly. “I was always pretty bored growing up. But now I’m having fun. Thanks to you.”

“Is that so?” Hajime found himself smiling as well. 

There had always been something about Roswell that made Hajime ache. The emptiness in his eyes, the rigidness of his motions as he sparred with other heroes. It seemed methodical and forced, just a job that simply needed to get done.

But when it came to Hajime, there was always a fire, a flicker of interest that made Roswell deviate from his usual tactics, abandoning any and all restraint. It was like he came alive every time they fought, shocked into action with newfound vigor and passion. 

Hajime wanted to know why.

There were layers of him he wanted to unfurl, petals he wanted to pluck from Roswell’s pretty exterior until the most vulnerable parts of him were laid bare and exposed. He knew it’d be ugly, knew there was a blazing hot core of spite and hate and every violent emotion one could feel burning at his center. Hajime didn’t care. 

He just wanted to see it.

Wanted to cool it.

Wanted to hold it in his hands and press it to his lips, wanted to remind him that the world wasn’t as bad as it might have been to him in the past. That there were parts of the world and parts of Hajime, too, that were both ugly and beautiful. That he wasn’t alone.

Roswell sighed. He grimaced as he forced himself upright, testing his strength before pulling himself to stand on shaky feet. 

“Letting me slip away yet again, I see?”

It was a challenge, one Hajime might’ve ignored had he been a bit more battered than he was.

Oh, who was he kidding — he would never back down from one of Roswell’s challenges.

He bit back a cry as he leaned forward and felt his ribs grind together uncomfortably. Definitely broken. But still, he persisted.

He knew he’d end up flat on his back again in no time, left panting and coughing with a sleek boot against his chest. But he let it happen anyway. Let them fall into their routine. 

Fight. Rest. Hold your ground, but always let him get away. 

Always.

“Tooru. My name is Tooru.”

Hajime’s eyes widened. He felt the pressure of the shoe on his ribs, felt the digging of a heel into the center of his stomach, but all he could focus on was:

_Tooru_.

“Don’t bother looking it up though.” Roswell — no, _Tooru_ — preened, raising his head indifferently. ”It won’t be in any registry you have access to.”

He smirked, digging into Hajime’s chest painfully. His lips curled in a sneer. “I’m a pretty rare treat. Be glad I’m such a dedicated rival.”

“More like a clingy idiot,” Hajime spat through gritted teeth. Discomfort aside, he found himself grinning.

“Mean, Iwa-chan,” Tooru said softly. He lifted his foot and sauntered to the edge of the rooftop. “Hope you can catch me next time…”

He tossed a withering glance behind him, smirking coyly over a deftly poised shoulder.

“Hajime.”

He leaped off the edge and Hajime waited for a splatter he knew would never come. 

He was left to watch the ink bleed from the sky, giving way to a pale pink canvas smeared with hues of gold and blue. The whole time, he rolled a single word off of his tongue, molding it in his mouth over again, savoring the way it bubbled past his lips.

_Don’t worry. I’ll definitely get you next time…_

“Tooru.”

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't write this with a song in mind, but Self Control by Frank Ocean came on shuffle when I was editing and I thought it fit so well. The lyrics aren't a perfect description of their dynamic, but I feel like it fit the mood as I was rereading. Plus there's a lyric about UFOs. Fuckin' nerd. 
> 
> If you wanna talk about anything Haikyuu related, hmu on twitter @catboyhokage!


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